Whoever said Effi Briest is like Anna Karenina has rocks in his head. If ever there was a more disappointing comparison, I don’t know of it.
Anna and Effi? One is elegant and charming and womanly and passionate; the other swings in the backyard by the heliotrope one day and is engaged two hours later to a former beau of her mother’s.
Effi succumbs to the attentions of a womanizing Major, who near the end of the book dies in a duel with Effi’s husband. There is no issue of love here, only terribly naive infatuation, and immaturity, on the part of Effi.
I found this novel boring and dull and no where near the power that Tolstoy wielded with Anna’s heart. (Not to mention the character found within Levin.) The best I can say about it is, “I’ve finally finished it.”